


Italian Interlude

by 1MissMolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Pining, Relationship(s), Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has had enough of Sherlock using her and forgetting about her. She decides to run off to Italy and find herself. What she finds is Daniel, an artist and lover. But Sherlock wants her back and is willing do anything to get her back. </p><p>This is very different from my other writings. No violence or cases just a lot of angst and fluff. Not sure on the rating, it may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Where are those test results I requested?” Sherlock demanded as soon as Molly stepped into the room. She held the file close to chest as she hesitated in her stride walking towards him. He was close to a solution to the crime. Close to solving the unsolvable problem. Saving the ambassador’s daughter and rescuing her from certain death. Observing every minute detail and minuscule piece of evidence but what was right in front of him. Molly.

She held the folder out to him and he grabbed it quickly. Opening it and scanning the papers with the results of the gas chromatography of the residue found under the fingernails of the dead kidnapper. Tar, nicotine, acetone, glycerin, acrylic, salts and clay.

“The nail salon!” Sherlock shouted and sped out of the lab. John and Lestrade on his heels as the three men rushed from Molly’s domain and out into the night to save the young woman.

Molly sighed as she picked up the report that had fallen to the ground where Sherlock dropped it in his haste. She set the paperwork aside and went about cleaning and storing the equipment away Sherlock always pulled out and was using while he waited for the lab report. She cleaned the microscope, gently letting her fingers pass over the dials and nobs he had only just recently held. Slipping the plastic protective cover over the expensive piece of equipment, setting it aside for the next time Sherlock needed it, then forgot about it.

Just like herself.

Molly walked slowly into the locker room and pulled open her cupboard. She pulled her white coat off and hung it up as she pulled her thin winter coat on. Slipping the strap of her cloth purse over her neck, Molly closed the door and locked her cupboard. It was going to be a lonely walk home tonight.

Before, seeing Sherlock always made her happy and gitty. Excited and expectant. Then he had come to her one desperate night and asked for help.

“What do you need?” She’d asked.

“You.” He had said.

And she helped him. Helped him lie, to deceive and hurt those who cared for him. Helped him die. Disappear. She kept helping him for years. Two and half years, she kept his secret. He was alive and dismantling Moriarty’s web. She stayed silent as she watched John morn and collapse in on himself. She watched Mrs. Hudson weep as if she had lost her only son. Watch Greg Lestrade hate himself for not trusting his friend. Watch Anderson give up his life work to seek forgiveness from a dead man. Watch herself try and get on with her life believing she would never see Sherlock again.

Then there he was. In her mirror. Smiling. In her life again asking favors. In her head, questioning her choices.

He was there. He would always be there to her. No matter what. He had a part of her she could never get back. No matter how desperate she tried, Sherlock would always be inside her soul. She loved him. Regardless, despite of, unavoidably, terminally.

He returned and everything in her life was a little less shiny. A little less valuable. Because next to Sherlock Holmes, how could anything be considered valuable, brilliant, perfect? Even the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, Tom, had lost his luster next to Sherlock.

She stepped out into the October evening air. It should be cold, but she was so turned up with emotions she didn’t notice the light rain or the wind blowing up the river and between the buildings. She walked into the tube station and passed her oyster card over the turnstile. The gates pulling back to let her in. She walked slowly down the stairs and onto the platform. The tube tunnel was warm and humid. The echoing of trains and voices bouncing off the tile walls. The unique smell of oil and moisture, earth and something bitter coated the air. She sat down on the metal seats and waited for the train.

Her thoughts moving back to Sherlock. Always back to Sherlock. She felt she was unable to escape him. He had told her Moriarty had made a mistake and ignored the one person who mattered the most. The one person who Sherlock could always trust and turn too. Molly.

How could he say such things then just walk away from her? Walk away and leave her standing in the hallway of the dinge flat block. Step out into the growing storm and walk away without ever looking back.

Words were one thing but actions were another. Molly knew in her heart, knew with the certainty of her next breath that she was in love with Sherlock Holmes. And with that same certainty, she knew he would never return that love. The realization burned her as smoke burns the fragile tissues of lungs. It hurt.

One brief loud sob escaped her as she sat on the empty platform. One moment of self-pity. She covered her mouth with her hand before another sound could escape. As her eyes stung with unshed tears she looked around briefly, she saw a few people looking at her, but no one was stepping closer. No one was going to come to comfort her. She was alone. Alone in a city of eight million people. Alone on this platform, alone in her love.

The train pulled in and doors opened. Molly stood and stepped into the car. Sitting down she looked down at her hands. She was heading home now to her flat. Her single bedroom flat with her cat and a bottle of red wine. She was thirty-one and living the life a seventy year old spinster. Balling her fist, she squeezed her eyes tight. This was also Sherlock’s fault. Well maybe not. It was her fault for letting Sherlock do this to her.

Enough.

She had enough of it. No more. Tomorrow things were going to change. It was obvious that Sherlock would not change, so Molly knew she had to change. She was an intelligent woman. You don’t get to be a doctor, let alone a pathologist by being an idiot, regardless what Sherlock said. Molly was going to change. Start living her life for herself. Live her life in spite of Sherlock’s presences. Live her life regardless of Sherlock.

She texted Mike Stanford, her boss, and informed him she would unable to be at work in the morning. She was owed several weeks of holiday and she had a family emergency to take care of. She didn’t have to tell Mike, she was the emergency.

The train stopped at her station and Molly quickly walked off the train and out of the station. She went over to a newsstand and purchased a travel magazine with a picture of Rome on the cover. As she walked home she texted a neighbor asking them if they would be able to watch Toby, her cat for few days. She was being called out of town. The neighbor was more than happy to help and agreed to come by later in the evening and retrieve the cat.

Molly unlocked the door of her flat and quickly went to her bedroom. She pulled out a suitcase and started packing it. She had no idea where she was going but Italy sounded good. She could get through the language she thought because she knew Latin. It would be good. Just go and see and be. Away from London, away from dead people, away from Sherlock.

When the neighbor arrived, Molly had already packed up Toby’s food and toys, along with a bag of litter. She had the cat in the carrier and a box of perishable food items from her kitchen to give to the neighbor as well. The woman smiled and was surprised by the box of food.

“I don’t know how long I will be away. I just thought you would get better use out these than me.” Molly explained. The neighbor saw the packed suitcase.

“Molly are you going to away long?”

“I don’t know. I’ll just have to see what I find.”

“What are you hoping to find?”

“Myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of Daniel Craig as I'm describing Daniel in this story. Thank you for the kudos already. Please enjoy.

Molly sat at the tables of the street café in front of Baptistery in Florence. She sipped her cappuccino and watched the tourist wander by. The Americans were older than most with their large cameras around their necks and guide books in hand. The Germans were tall thin youths with back packs and mobile phones. The Japanese were loaded down with shopping bags from the expensive stores. Molly smiled as she was able to deduce each and every person who passed near her.

Her attention shifted to the street vendors setting up their little kiosks, selling everything from purses, to clothing, to religious relics. There were various nationalities beside Italians selling to the crowds. Croatians, Algerians, Gypsies, North Africans.

Then Molly stopped. She set her cup down and frowned. The one person she didn’t want to think about was the one person she was imitating. Sherlock. As the bells from the Duomo started ringing, she looked up at the dome of the ancient church. She had run away. That was the only way to explain it. She had run away from London and responsibilities and Sherlock. She had run all the way to Florence, Italy. And she wasn’t even sure why. She didn’t expect anyone to come looking for her. She didn’t belief she wanted anyone to come after her. She just had to leave.

She had called Mike Stanford one final time at the train station in Rome, telling him she was going to away for a while. Molly said she didn’t know when or even if she would be returning. When he did not comment, Molly bit her lip and asked if he wanted her resignation now. Surprised, Mike stumbled over his response and said it was not wanted and she would have a job when she returned. Molly, secretly wished he had forced her to resign so she really wouldn’t have a reason to return.

Molly decided Florence would be cheaper to live in than Rome and anything would be cheaper than London. She had been here in the city for a week and would start looking for a flat later that day. It was insane and stupid to just up and move. But insane and stupid was what she wanted.

*****

Sherlock marched into St Bart’s morgue for the first time in a week. He had rescued the ambassador’s daughter from her kidnappers earlier in the week and had been dodging the press afterwards. Now that a new scandal held the headlines he was able to leave Baker Street and return to other investigations.

John was at the clinic and Lestrade did not have any new cases for him. Sherlock decide to return to Barts and work on a project to determine the anticoagulation properties of snake bites. Procuring a Russell Viper in London prove problematic but once he had an ampule of venom he was off to the lab.

He burst through the doors and shouted out.

“Molly, I need fresh blood!”

The room was silent. Sherlock turned and looked around. The work clipboard was hanging on the wall showing cases had been down earlier that day. The room smelled of disinfectant and bowel contents. Autopsies obviously had been done that day, but Molly was not there waiting for him. He stepped over to her office and turned the door handle. It was locked.

Sherlock knitted his brow and turned to leave when the door opened and a gurney was pushed in. One of the morgue techs pushed in the table with a body encased in a black body bag. Sherlock quickly flipped through his mind palace looking for a name.

“Margret.”

“Mable.” The woman said looking disgusted with him.

“Yes, Mable, where is Dr. Hooper?”

“Gone.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Well, obviously gone. Where? When will she return? I have tests I need to run.”

Mable pushed the table into the middle of the room next to the autopsy table. She stepped over to the side and unceremoniously dragged the body bag with the dead body from the gurney onto the table. She stepped back around and started pushing the gurney out of the way and into the corner.

“Don’t know. She just took off last week. Don’t know where or when she’ll be back. Some family emergency she told Dr. Stamford. If you have tests you want run, you need to ask Dr. Brathwaite.”

Gerald Brathwaite loathed Sherlock. This was unacceptable. How could Molly just take off and leave Sherlock with Brathwaite? What could she be thinking?

Sherlock shoved his hands into his pockets and marched out of the morgue and up to Mike Stamford’s office. He had to know where Molly was and when she was going to return. It was vitally important for Sherlock to have his pathologist available to him at a moment’s notice.

Sherlock didn’t knock of Mike’s office door. He just opened it and marched in. Fortunately, Mike was alone with paperwork and not with a patient.

“Mike where is she?” Sherlock flounced down in the chair opposite Mike’s desk.

Mike Stamford looked up confused, still holding the budget report in his hand.

“Who she?”

“Dr. Molly Hooper, my pathologist.”

Mike sighed heavily. “She not your pathologist, Sherlock. She’s St Bart’s pathologist. And . . . and I don’t know where she is. She said she had a family emergency and had to leave.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Family emergency? Molly doesn’t have any family. What emergency?”

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a family?”

“Molly’s mother abandoned her family when Molly was just a teenager. Her brother died ten years ago from a prolonged illness. Her father died last year. Molly has no living family. What emergency?”

Worried now, Mike started sorting through the papers on his desk. “I don’t know, she just called me to say she wouldn’t be in for a few days. Then she called back the next day and said she would be gone for a while. She asked if she needed to resign.”

“Resign?!” Sherlock stood towering over Mike and his desk.

“Yes, but I told her no. There was no need. We would wait for her return. She must be planning on returning.”

“Where did she call you from the second time?”

“I’m not exactly sure. There was a lot of background noise. Like a train station.”

Sherlock darted out of the office and was pulling his mobile out of his pocket. He quickly texted Molly then he texted John. They were going to need to take a trip to bring his pathologist home. Molly taking a holiday of undetermined length was unacceptable.

*****

Molly walked up the narrow coble stone streets of Florence, looking at the address on the paper in her hand. She stopped on the corner and looked up at the street names placard on the walls of the buildings. She saw the building she wanted and crossed the street to the open door. The two small steps led into a tiled hallway. On the left side was another open door. Molly knocked on the door jamb calling out.

“Ciao?”

A man poked his head around the corner of the room inside the small flat. He was tanned with short blond hair. Several days’ worth of stubble covered his chin and his face was creased slightly with wear. He wasn’t old per say just used. Handsome in an unconventional way.

“Buon giorno.” He said with a slight rounding of the vowels.

“Mi scusi, mobile appartamento affittare?” Molly faltered, looking through her Italian phase book.

“You want a furnished flat to rent?” His voice was deep and very West London.

Molly looked up quickly to see the man slowly walk across the room towards her. He was taller than her, with broad muscular shoulders. He was wiping his hands on a dish towel and smiling. His smile covered his whole face and wrinkled around his eyes in an adorable fashion. But for Molly the most striking thing about him was his beautiful blue eyes. They were clear and bright, like sunlight through artic ice. Sharp and brilliant.

Molly stood stunned watching the man walk towards her. Speechless, she just stood and watched him till he stopped right in front of her.

“I speak English if that would be easier for you. Your Italian is pretty bad.”

Molly blushed and looked down at her phrase book. “Sorry, sorry, I have been . . . I mean nobody . . . I’ve been getting by.”

“Most of the trade people speak English for the tourists. But you’re looking for a flat to stay in? Not a hotel?” He tossed to the dish towel over onto a table.

Molly looked up into those bright blue eyes. “Yes, I was thinking of staying for a while.”

“Are you an artist?”

She blushed again and looked down. “No, just a visitor.” Then looking up. “Are you one?”

“I would like to think I am, but right now I’m the manager of this flat block. The owner is on vacation in Malta. She left me in charge. There’s a flat on the top floor, it’s small but has a bed and its own ensuite.” He smiled again and Molly returned the smile. “Let me show it to you.”

He held his hand out and encouraged her to step out the door of his flat and into the noisy tiled hall. He closed the door of his flat and checked to make sure it was locked. Then walked down the hall, deeper into the building. At the end of the hall was small lift, a metal cage with the cables exposed. He shoved the door open and let Molly step in first.

“It’s on the fifth floor. We could walk up if you like.”

“No, no, this is fine.”

He stepped into the small elevator with her then Molly realized why he asked. They had to stand close together. The lift being less than a two feet squared. Molly was having to lean into the tall man. Her body up against his chest. Molly coyly looked up through her lashes at the blonde who was staring down at her. Those same bright blue eyes taking in every nuance of Molly’s face.

The elevator jerked as it stopped on the fifth floor and Molly unconsciously grabbed at the man as she gasped in fright. Her hands folding around his upper arms. They were muscled and strong. His hands automatically slipped to her waist to steady her. Molly blushed again and tried to move back but his hands held her close to him for a moment too long.

He pulled on the metal door, letting it collapse and open for them. Molly backed out of the tiny lift and turned away from the man with the bright blue eyes. He unlocked the flat and opened the door. He slipped the key fob into the plug in the wall, engaging the electricity for the room.

It was a simple one room flat. A double bed, a dresser, table with two chairs and door leading into the ensuite. The large window looked out over the roof tops of the city. Molly could see roof gardens and flowers along with red tile roofs and yellow bricks. In the distance was the dome of the Duomo. It was perfect. Molly sighed as her face broke into a broad smile.

“I love the view up here. I sometime come up here just to draw.” The man said from the door.

Molly knew this was just too perfect. She would never be able to afford it. Whispering she asked. “How much?”

“Two hundred and seventy-five euros a week.”

Molly spun and looked at him. Her eyes wide. “Two seventy-five? I pay almost twice that in London!”

“Don’t tell Lucia, she’ll raise the rents.” He laughed.

“I’ll take it!” Molly spun around looking at her new flat, then frowned. “A kitchen. There’s no kitchen.”

“Well, there are a lot of small cafés nearby and it you like . . . well . . . just offering, I have a small kitchen in my flat on the ground floor.”

Molly turned and looked at him. “I’m not a very good cook.”

“Well to be perfectly honest, neither am I, but I’m dying for beans on toast.”

Molly laughed and held out her hand. “Molly Hooper.”

The man held out his, “Daniel Freeman.”

“London? West end?”

“Yea, haven’t lost the accent yet.” He smiled at her. “Came here to be an artist.”

“Came here to be here.” Molly said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a mistake.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos. I don't have a beta so if I make a glaring mistake please let me know.

Sherlock had picked the lock on Molly’s flat in less than thirty seconds. He was going to have to warn her about that as soon as he straightened out this ridiculous holiday she had decided to take without his knowledge. He stepped into her apartment and looked around carefully.

Molly had been gone for just a week. Mail had piled up on the table next to the door. Apparently a neighbor had been bring it in. Molly’s cat was missing, and her plants were dying. So someone had the cat but no one was taking care of the flat while she was gone. Molly left in a hurry without making arrangements. Alarms were starting to go off in his head.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The milk and juice were gone but takeaway was still there and beginning to smell. Closing the door he looked around. Fruit missing from the bowl on the table but cereal still on the cupboard shelf.

Walking back into Molly’s bedroom, Sherlock could see the outline of a suitcase depressed into the duvet and the drawers open on Molly’s dresser. Her perfume and make-up was missing as well as some jewelry. She packed in a hurry. Left probably the night he last saw her. She had said nothing about planning a trip. At least he didn’t remember her saying anything. She gave no indication she was planning a trip.

“Sherlock? Molly?”

The detective heard John calling from the open front door. When Molly had not answered his text, Sherlock texted John and told him to hurry over to Molly’s.

“Back here.” Sherlock shouted.

John walked through the flat looking left and right for any signs of trouble. He was unsure as to why Sherlock had texted him, only that for Sherlock, it was important. John had not been back to Bart’s since the previous week and didn’t know if something had happened to the young pathologist. The weight of his automatic at the small of his back was reassuring as he moved slowly through the small flat.

“Sherlock? What’s going on?” He stood to the side of the doorway of the bedroom, peaking around the corner waiting for an attack by a stranger.

“Molly’s on holiday.” Sherlock said as he bent over to exam the contents of her nightstand.

John shook his head at Sherlock’s comment, then stepped into the room. “You called me out of clinic because Molly took a holiday?” Sherlock could hear the growing frustration in his friend’s voice.

“She left without telling me.”

“Does she always tell you when she’s leaving?”

“No, I usually deduce it.”

John crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his heels. “So, because Molly did something you didn’t deduce beforehand, you called me over here with my gun for . . . what? Interrogate her cat?”

Sherlock looked up at his friend with a resentful stare. “Of course not. The cat is not here.”

“Wait you don’t think she was kidnapped do you?” Concern finally filtering into John’s voice.

“No she packed a bag and left. The cat was gone along with its food and litter. Obviously someone has her cat. Molly left willingly but unexpected.”

John shook his head then started to pace around the small room. “Molly chose to leave, wasn’t forced. Made arrangements for her cat. Called Mike?”

“Yes.”

“So she really is on holiday and you are here searching her flat. Why?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

John stopped pacing. He turned and glared at his best friend. “She didn’t tell you! Why the bloody hell should she?! When you’re not treating her like a pet monkey, you insult her. When you’re not insulting her, you’re ignoring her. Why would she include you in any private part of her life?”

“She told Stamford, she had a family emergency.” He knelt down to look under the bed.

“So?” John readying himself to storm out of the flat.

“She has no family. Her mother abandoned her when she was a child. Her father and brother are both dead. She has no one but me.”

“You! She doesn’t have you! What the hell are you talking about?!”

Sherlock stood up quickly and rushed out of the room. It was a slip. He said something without thinking. Of course she didn’t have him. No one had him. He didn’t have anyone. He didn’t need or want anyone. He marched out of the bedroom and went to the pile of mail left on the table by the door. Picking up the envelopes, he quickly scanned through the letters.

“Sherlock, what did you mean, she has no one but you? What makes you think she has you? When have you ever let her think she would matter to you?!” John asked walking up behind his friend.

That last question hurt. “She’s my pathologist. Of course she matters to me. Do you know how hard it is for me to find anyone of reasonable intelligence to work with?” John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. “You know what I mean, John.” Sherlock spun around once more taking in the furnishings of the flat. “I just want to know she is alright.”

“Do you have any reason to believe she is not?”

“She’s not here. I want her here.”

“Sherlock, we don’t always get what we want in this life.”

*****

The meal was not beans on toast but Spaghetti Carbonara. Molly fixed a salad while Daniel quickly cooked the pasta and tossed in the cheese and egg to make the sauce. They talked about their lives and why they ended up in Florence. Daniel had come to study art. He had been a sculptor of reasonable success in London but wanted to be better. Molly just said she wanted a change of scenery. She didn’t mention she was doctor or that she worked in forensics. Those facts always brought unwelcomed questions like how can you touch dead bodies, why would you touch dead bodies, or does this growth look like something I should be worried about. She said she taught at a medical school but was vague about the subject.

Daniel asked if she planned on teaching in Florence at the university. She hadn’t thought about it but it could be an answer to many unasked questions about her future. She knew she really didn’t have a future back in London and she certainly didn’t want to return to what she left. Molly smiled and said she would think about it.

They dined in a little courtyard in the center of the flat block. A small rectangular patio running up the middle of the building. White sheets and towels fluttered above them on drying lines as the sounds of the city echoed around them. The bells of the church rang out, as Daniel gently tapped Molly’s wine glass with his.

“To ex-pats.” He smiled. The creases in his face making him more adorable to look at. Molly blushed thinking how very handsome he was as he sat beside her at the tiny table eating together.

“Do you enjoy living here?” She asked.

“I came for six months internship. That was three years ago. I honestly can’t see myself leaving now. I have nothing to return to in England anyway.” Daniel said as he scooped up a fork full of pasta. “How long are you going to stay?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to leave London.”

“Bad relationship?”

Molly looked up quickly to see him watching her. “What makes you ask that?”

“You just have that vibe about you. A broken heart.”

She looked down at her plate of food and suddenly lost her appetite. “Not a broken heart, just a misused one. Bruised.”

“Sometimes bruises hurt more than clean breaks.” His voice softened and deepened. She could hear the strong London accent coming through the more he talked to her. Like he was relearning how to speak his native language. Molly nodded at his comment and quickly grabbed for her wine glass. Drinking all of it down. “Careful, Italian wines may go down smoother than French but are just as powerful. I would hate to see you with a hangover tomorrow.”

Molly realized that was the first time since her father died that anyone had ever cared about how she would feel in the morning. Tom never seemed to care and Sherlock was above caring for anyone, even John. Molly blinked her eyes several times trying to fight back the tears.

“I’m sorry did I . . .” Daniel noticed the change in Molly.

“No, no, please don’t. You have been wonderful. I mean the dinner and the conversation. It’s just . . . like I said, bruised heart. Thank you for your kindness.” She smiled up at him but he didn’t return her smile. He just stared concerned. Molly reached for the bottle of wine but Daniel grabbed it first and refilled her glass.

“Then I will have to help you sooth your bruised heart.” He set the bottle down. “I was going over to the Accademia tomorrow to sketch. Would you like to come?” Daniel fold his hands together as he rested his elbows on the table.

“That’s where the David is right?” Molly asked.

“Yes, I know one of the guards and he will let us in earlier. I want to sketch some of the statues in the other part of the museum. Do you want to join me?”

“I would really like to but I need to start moving in tomorrow. I need to contact my old neighbor in London and have my things sent over.”

“So you are officially moving in?” She nodded. “Well, then it’s a rain check.”

“Good because I really want to see the David. Especially with a sculptor who can make it more interesting for me.”

Daniel finally smiled and lifted his glass to toast Molly.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the fun comments and kudos. Another chapter for your entertainment. I hope you enjoy.

Greg Lestrade sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair as he watched Holmes pace in front of him. The consulting detective was ranting about finding Molly Hooper. How her decision to take some time off was suspicious and that Lestrade needed to investigate. After the third time Greg stated it wasn’t his department, he gave up and placed a call to St. Bart’s to speak to Mike Stamford.

Dr. Stamford was as frustrated with Sherlock as Greg Lestrade and John Watson were. He explained to the DI, that Molly had contacted him and said she needed time off. Given she hadn’t taken a holiday in three years, Mike could understand the need to finally escape from work and mostly the interference of Sherlock.

Lestrade calmly hung the receiver up and looked over at the fuming Holmes.

“Sherlock, everyone agrees. Molly is not missing. She has just decided to take a little time away.” Lestrade said as if talking to a small child.

“She’s been missing for ten days now! She didn’t take that much clothing!”

“Well, I’m sure she knows how to do laundry and unless she is on a desert island, I’m sure they’ll have a laundry mat.”

The text alert chimed in Sherlock’s pocket. He quickly grabbed his mobile and looked at the message from one of his homeless network. _‘Flat being packed up. Boxes being sent to Italy.’_ Sherlock read the message twice before he twisted the screen for Lestrade to see.

“If she is just on holiday, why is her flat being shipped away?”

Lestrade creased his brow. Right now he wished he knew where Molly had run off too. He wanted to join her and run away from Sherlock too.

“Sherlock, have you just thought that maybe, just maybe, she needed to get away from you?” Lestrade asked raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock leaned back as if slapped. “Why? What have I done to merit this treatment?”

Lestrade sighed. “What haven’t you done? Okay. Molly has decided to move away. Between the break up with her fiancé and you and the trick you played on us, forcing her to help you with it, she just needed to get away. What does it matter anyway? Find a new pathologist to irritate. I’m sure Bart’s has a dozen you can insult.”

Sherlock stood glaring at the detective inspector before he turned on his heels and left the office. He heard Lestrade calling after him but he refused to turn around and listen any longer at how easy it would be to replace Molly.

Sherlock stepped out onto the pavement in front of NSY and waved his hand. The ubiquitous cab pulled up and he climbed in. Adjusting his coat as he gave the cabbie Molly Hooper’s address.

Within twenty minutes, the cab pulled to stop in front of the flat. Sherlock quickly paid the meter and stepped out of the cab. Looking around he quickly spotted his spy. A teenage boy sitting at the bus stop, tin cup at his feet while he played the harmonica. Sherlock gave a subtle nod to the boy just before climbing the stairs to Molly’s flat.

He knocked on the door and a red headed woman answered it. “Yes?” she asked.

“I’m a friend of Molly’s. I’ve a house warming present for her, but I’ve miss placed her new address, did she leave it with you?”

The woman smiled. She was young, early-twenties, with a round freckled face and dark green eyes. Her hair was a golden red and was more than likely natural.

“Wow, a house warming present? I just found out two days ago she was moving. Yeah can you believe it? Italy of all places. Just like the movie!” She had a distinctive Scottish accent. “I told her I was going to come a visit but I don’t think I’ll ever have enough money to go.”

“We’ll all miss her very much.” Sherlock forced a sad smile. “But at least she’ll be happy now.”

“Yeah, warm sun and gorgeous Italian men.” Sherlock smiled broader then winked at the woman. She blushed slightly then turned. “Oh address. I don’t know. She only asked for her clothes and some photos. Everything else into storage. She was ever so upset about her cat. Said she couldn’t take it with her.”

“Yes, such a loss. The address?”

“Oh yea,” she looked around the flat and found the slip of paper. She held it up for a moment then looked at Sherlock. He forced himself to not grab the scrap of paper, but instead, smiled.

“Thank you. I know Molly will be happy with her house warming present.”

The woman pulled her hand back before Sherlock could take the address. “You’re that detective friend of hers, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he held his hand out to shake the woman’s. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yea, Molly told me about you.” She slipped the paper with the address into her pocket. “Said I shouldn’t talk to you unless I was naked and had my face paralyzed. Why would she that?”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. “I wouldn’t know. The address, please.”

“Are you the reason she skipped out? Did you do something to her?” The woman crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Why does everyone assume I did something to Molly? I haven’t spoken to her. I haven’t uttered a syllable to her.” He leaned back and tipped his chin up.

“Well, I see!”

“You see nothing. Single with a part time boyfriend in the city. Working as a delivery girl, no, no, a kiss-a-gram girl.”

Her eyes flew wide. “How did you . . . did Molly tell you?”

“No, I can smell at least four different men’s cologne you. Close proximity to numerous men in a short period of time. Your lips are chapped but you have lip balm on them. Only a part time boyfriend would put up with your career path. You are wearing two much makeup for this time of day and your shoes are worn from walking. Low paying job, no money for travel, delivery or kiss-a-gram.”

“You . . . you . . .”

“Are you going to give me that address?”

“No! Go deduce it elsewhere! No wonder why she ran away from you!” She put both hands up on his chest and pushed him backwards out of the flat. Slamming the door in his face.

He’d only gotten a quick look at the address. Florence, Italy. That was all. Sherlock stepped out of the building feeling peculiar. That was another person, a stranger, who accused him of being the cause of Molly’s departure. He stood on the curb thinking back over what he had said to her the last time they had been together. It was the test of the fingernail scrapings. That couldn’t have been it. And before, what had he said before that would have made her want to leave. He said he was glad she was no longer wearing an engagement ring. Was she upset he was glad she had come to her senses and seen what a complete idiot “Meat Daggers Tom” was? Shouldn’t Tom be the reason she left instead of him. Tom was the one she was engaged to not Sherlock.

He started walking down the pavement lost in his thoughts. Replaying every conversation he had had with her since his return. She had been surprised but happy when he turned up in the locker room. She enjoyed spending the day with him working. She had asked for a dance at John’s wedding but Sherlock decided to leave before he could accommodate her. He could not place where he could have done anything to make Molly want to leave London. She knew about the drugs. She knew about them from before. Of all of his acquaintances, she was the only one whom he allowed to angry with him about it. She was the only one who he would stay quiet while she berated him. She was the only one whom he would apologize to before being asked. As he had told her, she was the one who mattered most.

Why couldn’t she understand that?

*****

It was a week before Daniel could sneak Molly into the Accademia. They arrived early, before the tourists and walked through the stone arch way into the first gallery. The statue, ‘The Rape of the Sabine Women’ was in the center of the room. Molly blushed slightly as Daniel walked her around to see the detail in the hand grasping at the naked woman’s marble flesh. Then unconsciously, he grabbed Molly’s hand and led her through a door way into a gallery of what she thought was modern art. Partially formed bodies emerging from marble.

“Michelangelo’s unfinished pieces.” Daniel explained as Molly paused to look at them. He tugged her along. When she turned she saw him. The David. He stood at the end of the hall. The massive marble statue of the young man. A stone in his hand, staring off into the distance. Awaiting his fate. It was magnificent.

Daniel was speaking about the size of the hands and feet not being correct, but Molly was not listening. She was just staring at the statue. His lean body and large hands. His curly hair and intense stare. Just like . . . Molly let out one short gasp before she collapsed on the marble bench built into the wall. Tears were falling as she sobbed silently in the empty museum.

Daniel heard her gasp then watched her fall to the bench. Her hands covering her face. Her narrow shoulders shuddering with each deep breath she took. He knelt down in front of her. His hands gently stroking down her arms, as if calming a frighten child.

“Molly?” His voice deep and soft. “Molly, do you want to leave?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just he reminded me . . . I . . . is there another room you wanted to go to?”

“Yes, through there. It’s full of reproductions. Let me take you home.” He leaned forward to hug her but she pushed back away from him.

“No, let’s go see them. I’m okay.” He leaned back onto his heels looking up at her. Tears were still slipping down her face. “Really, I was just overwhelmed by him. He is everything people have said of him.”

“Molly, we can leave.”

“No, you came to sketch. Let’s go and sketch.” She tried to smile. He did not return it. “Please, I want to see the rest of the museum.” She waited for him to stand, then Molly stood and let him lead her into the other galleries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw the David for the first time, I did cry. He is incredible. Although he doesn't look like Sherlock, he does have the curly hair and the intense stare. David does not have Sherlock's cheek bones or cupid bow mouth but we can't have everything.


	5. Chapter 5

A month later, Sherlock was sitting in his chair in his thinking pose. John had come over to visit and was making tea for both of them. Since Molly had disappeared, they had solved four cases and been involved in one shoot out with Lestrade. Sherlock at attended five autopsies performed by Brathwaite and remained silent through each. He had not started any new experiments and presently the flat was free of any decomposing body parts. John was worried.

Sherlock sat quietly, thinking. Florence, Italy. That silly woman had said just like the movie. What movie? Trivial knowledge. John.

“Which movie was she talking about?” Sherlock asked.

John popped his head up looking around. He had been in the flat for an hour but Sherlock had not acknowledged his presences. Finally, Sherlock seemed to talking to him, but about what?

“What movie?”

“The movie about the woman leaving for Italy?”

John knitted his brow and tried to think what Sherlock was on about this time. Woman? Movie? Italy? He finished the tea and walked over handing a mug to Sherlock.

“Do you mean, ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’?”

“Is that a movie?”

“Yes, Diana Lane, I think. She leaves America after a divorce and moves to Italy.” John sat down in his chair and watched the changes flash over Sherlock’s face as he slipped the information into various slots.

“Does she ever return to America?”

“No, she meets a man, well several men, and lives happily ever after in Tuscany. It’s actually good for a chick flick.”

“A what?”

“A movie for women. A chick flick. American term.”

“Oh.” Sherlock clasped his fingers together under his chin. “Why doesn’t she return to America?”

“Because she happier in Italy.”

“Did she go to Florence?”

“I don’t remember the town she ends up in. I haven’t seen the movie in years. Why?” John sipped his tea.

“Do women want to run off to Italy after an unhappy breakup?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, none of my girlfriends took off for Italy after you chased them away.” John said with a smirk. Sherlock looked over at him and glared.

“Of course not, they were idiots. Molly, do think she would run off to Italy because of Meat Daggers?”

“Who? Tom? That was some time ago. I don’t think that’s the reason she left.”

“Oh yes, I know. You think I’m responsible for her leaving.”

“Any way she’s on holiday.” John said not rising to the bait.

“Molly just left. It’s not like her.”

“And how would you know what she is like?” Sherlock huffed. “Oh, you observe. Did you ever observed how much of a crush she had on you before you left? You must have because you constantly manipulated her with it. Did you ever observed how hurt it made her feel? Then, when you returned and she was engaged to a man who looked just like you. Did you observe she was desperately trying to replace you? Did you observe that she is the only one, the only one you trust completely? You didn’t trust me, your best friend. No you turned to her when everyone was being threatened. When you couldn’t get me to come back and be your assistant, you asked her. You go to her when you need bodies, or tests run, or coffee. You walk over her and use her, but have you ever true observed her?”

“You mean how her nose wrinkles when she asks a question? Or her eyebrows lift when she explaining something? That she pouts when she is concentrating. How she can shut the world out while she is working? How she cuts her hair every two months but only half an inch? How she uses lemon juice to remove the smell of cadavers from her skin? Or the fact she that the only new clothes she has bought in the last five years was the dress she wore to your wedding?” Sherlock glared at his best friend.

John leaned his head on his raised hand and sighed with a smug look on his face. “If you’ve observed all that, why haven’t you observed she is in love with you and I’m pretty damn sure you’re in love with her?”

“I don’t . . .”

“Yes you do. You do have feelings. You do care about people. Caring is not a disadvantage, Sherlock. Love is not a chemical defect in the losing side.”

Sherlock’s mobile chimed. He refused to answer John and was thankful for the distraction. He answered the call without looking at the caller ID.

“Holmes here.” Then he was silent. He stared off into nowhere as he listened. Then he disconnected the call without speaking. He just kept staring.

“Sherlock, what is it? What’s happened?” John leaned forward in his chair, worried by his friend.

“That was Mike. Molly just emailed him her resignation. She’s not returning.”

*****

It didn’t take Molly long to realize the idea of teaching at the university was a bad idea. First off her Italian wasn’t good enough. Second off, she wasn’t eager to get back into forensic yet. She just wanted to get way from everything for a while. So her she did.

She hadn’t waited table since she was in Uni, but was willing to do it again. She got a job in a café just off the Piazza della Signoria that catered to the tourists. She spoke English to the Americans and British tourists and Daniel was teaching her Italian and German. Most days Molly worked from noon until seven in the evenings. Daniel would come by and sit and sketch the square as she worked. After her shift he would walk her home, teaching her new words and helping her with her accent.

The first few nights, he would brush the back of his hand over hers as they walked across the cobblestones. The music and laughter from the street cafes and the peddlers following them down the pavement. Two weeks later, Molly slipped her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers, then held her hand tight as they walked.

Molly had been working at the café for a month and a half, when the winter tourist season started. They were busy and she spent most of her time waiting on the tables outside in the sunshine. Daniel had slipped into a table on the very edge trying to avoid the owner’s angry glares. Molly would occasionally slip an espresso or pastry out to him. Tourist would stop and watch him draw and ask him questions about the square or the statues. Occasionally, he sold a drawing or two, but he never purposely advertised his artwork.

As the sun started to sink behind the buildings, Molly took her apron off and said goodnight to the owner. She went and sat down next to Daniel smiling.

“Let me see.”

“No, they’re just rough sketches. Nothing you want to see.” He shoved the book under his elbow.

“Come on. You’ve been sitting here every afternoon for a month, drawing. Let me see. Is it the palace or the square?” She reached for the book and pulled it away from him. She flipped through the pages to the last ones he was working on. They were all of Molly. Her face as different angles. In some she was smiling, in other she was pouting as if she was thinking about something. Molly was very quiet as she looked from page to page. There was at least a dozen different portraits of her.

“Daniel?” She looked up at him from the book.

“I find you the most interesting thing to draw around here.” He said softly. She smiled and he returned it.

This time as they walked home, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder as she held him at his waist. When they were standing in the hallway of the apartment building, Molly didn’t want to let go of him. She could hear the shouts of the children at play and music coming in from the street. She looked up into Daniel’s face and smiled again. He bent down and kissed her. Very softly, very gently.

“Would you like to come in?” He asked. She couldn’t speak, she just nodded her head.

He unlocked the door of his flat and opened it for her. She stepped inside as he followed, closing and locking it. He step up behind her. His hands slowly moving around her waist as he stepped up against her back, pulling her back into his chest. His hands were warm over her skin. He gently moved her hair off her shoulder so he could bend down and kiss her neck. She sighed as he did so. His breath was hot.

“I’ve wanted to do that forever.” He whispered into her skin. “You are so lovely.”

“Daniel, I don’t . . .”

“Shhh. Only what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.” He leaned over and kissed her neck again. His palms flat to her stomach.

“I want to touch you. I want to kiss you, please.” She turned in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. The kiss was hesitant, sweet and chase. Daniel pulled back and looked closely at Molly’s expression. She wasn’t scared or worried. She was calm and peaceful. The next kiss was not hesitant. It was deep and full of promise.

“Come to bed with me.” His lips teased across her skin.

Molly lifted up on her toes. “Yes.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great comments. I am so glad you are finding this story entertaining. To be perfectly honest I'm still not sure who Molly will pick. So advice would be welcome.

Daniel was the perfect lover. He was gentle and protective. Strong and attentive. Molly never felt so cherished and cared for. He held her afterwards, gently dragging his fingers through her long hair whispering how beautiful she was and how special she made him feel. He was perfect.

Molly woke to the sound of the Duomo bells. The sun light shining across the bed warming her body under the duvet. She twisted to see she was alone.

“Daniel?” she called out.

“Here,” he said as he kicked open the bedroom door, while carrying a tray with breakfast. He set it down on the bed as Molly pushed herself up. Propping the pillows behind her back as she leaned against the headboard. She pulled the sheet up to cover her naked torso. Tucking the edges under her arms.

Daniel handed Molly a glass of blood orange juice. She savored the sweet flavor as she quickly drank it. Then opening her eyes, she saw Daniel smiling at her, holding out a cup of coffee for her. He was the only person she knew since her father died who would make her a cup of coffee. It was a simple gesture but Molly felt like crying because it was so special. She smiled brightly, as she blinked the tears back.

Molly sipped the coffee as she felt the sheet slowly being pulled away from her body.

“Daniel?!”

“You are so lovely. Will you let me draw you?” He said as he continued to slowly pull the sheet way from her.

“You already have.” Molly giggled.

“No I want to do a nude of you.” Molly blushed. It was silly given all they had done the night before, but to be naked in front of the man in the light a day as he studied her body was embarrassing.

He pulled the covers completely away exposing her total form. His fingers gently stroked down her side and then down her thigh.

“Tensor fasciae latae,” his fingers moved down the outside of her leg. “Vastus lateralis,” moving his hand up and in between her legs. “Moving to the gracillis.”

She grabbed his hand before he moved it higher up her body. “You know only a physician or a serial killer would know the name of those muscles.” She laughed softly.

“Or a sculptor.” He took the mug from her hands and set it off to the side. Then he crawled up the bed, straddling over her. “Do you know a lot about physicians and serial killers?”

Molly giggled. “I know of both.”

“Serial killers?” He leaned in closer to kiss her neck.

“Well . . . psychopaths. I seem to have been attached to some in the past.” Molly twisted her body to give him better access to her.

“Are you saying I’m a psychopath?” He moved down to leave a trail of kisses down her collar bone to her shoulder.

“No . . .” She gasped as he bit lightly into her skin.

“So you’re not attached to me.” He moved back up to run his tongue over the shell of her ear.

Molly’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. “I’ve changed my appetites.”

He smiled and grabbed her ribs. Twisting, he rolled the two of them over, so Molly was laying on top of his chest. Molly laughed in surprise as he moved her effortlessly.

“Good.” He said as his hands moved up into her hair and pulled her down for more kisses.

*****

It had been over two months. Sherlock knew what he had to do. He steeled his resolved and pressed in the number on his mobile. The phone rang three times before it was answered.

“Brother dear. Another Christmas call?” Mycroft’s voice was condescending. Sherlock gritted his teeth before he spoke.

“I need the address.”

“Any arbitrary address or shall I guess?”

“You know which address.”

“129 Via De Medici. You might wish to reconsider, brother. You won’t be happy with what you will find there.”

Sherlock disconnected the call without answering Mycroft.

*****

The weather was warmer in Florence than London, but Sherlock still chose to wear his Belstaff as he walked up the narrow street to the open door of the apartment block. He stepped into the darken hall and smelled the age of the building. The red tile floor and the beige plaster walls bounced sound off and filled the small area with tinny hollow ring.

Sherlock saw the man step off the last step of the stairs and walk up to him. He was in jeans and a dirty jumper. He was carrying a toolbox and had grease on his hands. Repair man? No he was too comfortable in the building. Lived here. Manager of some kind.

"Mi scusi, sto cercando Hooper Dr." Sherlock said in a perfect Tuscan accent.

“Dr. Hooper? Molly Hooper?” The man said. British accent.

Sherlock looked carefully at him. The man was tan, athletic, strong. There were muscles under that jumper. His hands were scarred, he had used them working. Grease, and dust, working in the building. But something else? Sherlock noticed the pencil shavings; he draws. Then the scent of marble dust. Sherlock studied the man’s wrists. Strong and thick. He has held a chisel and a hammer. Sculptor, an artist. His face was creased with laugh lines and tan from being outside. His hair was short and blonde. His eyes were bright blue but that didn’t naturally mean intelligent. The corners of Sherlock’s lips twitched. Not Molly’s type.

The man stepped forward looking closely at Sherlock. There was a slight recognition in his eyes then he frowned. The face with the pleasant laugh lines turned hard and sullen.

“You’re looking for Molly?” He said with a distinct West London accent.

Interesting, Sherlock thought. ‘Molly’ instead of Dr. Hooper. Informal address. He knows her but not as a doctor. The man also picked up quite quickly that Sherlock was English. He recognized Sherlock, but the detective had never seen him before.

“Yes, I’m a friend of hers from London. Does she live here?”

“She’s at work right now.” The man said.

“Oh, which hospital?”

“No hospital. You are?”

“Sherlock Holmes.” He held his hand out.

“Daniel Freeman.” The man moved past Sherlock ignoring the offered hand and unlocked a door. He opened it and stepped into the flat. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll take to her café.”

‘Café?’ Sherlock thought. Daniel pulled off his dirty jumper and tossed it on a pile of clothes sitting on the couch. Sherlock noticed some of Molly’s clothes were in the pile too. A pair of slacks and two blouses. Daniel came out from another room pulling a clean shirt on over his head.

“I’m sure Molly will want to see you soon so you can be on your way back to London.” Daniel said as he pushed Sherlock out of the flat and back into the hall, locking the door behind them.

They walked silently through the crowded streets. Florence was full of Christmas travelers. The café Molly worked at had set up tents over their outside tables with clear plastic sides so tourist could still dine alfresco in the winter temperatures.

Molly was busy working between a dozen tables. It was noon and the café was crowded. Sherlock watched in disgust as his pathologist took orders and delivered food to the idiots who didn’t know the difference between capellini and linguine.

Daniel stepped under the tent and took a table to the side. Molly looked up and caught his face and smiled at him. She had not noticed Sherlock at all. The dark haired man sat down as Molly rushed off into the restaurant without coming over to speak to them.

“So how long have you known Molly?” Daniel asked as he looked Sherlock up and down. The detective rolled his eyes.

“For years now. She and I worked together in London at St. Bart’s.”

“Molly worked at St. Bart’s?” Daniel raised an eyebrow.

Molly stepped up and set Daniel’s cappuccino down before realizing there was someone else sitting at his table.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know . . . Sherlock!” Molly saw the man looking up at her with a smug glow on his face.

“Molly.” He said softly. “I thought at least you would be teaching at the university but this . . . you left London to be a waitress?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress. I rather prefer it to . . . to . . . What are you doing here?!” She was turning red with anger. Daniel knew he had made a mistake and stood to pull Sherlock out of the café.

“I’ve come here to convince you to return to London. You are needed.”

“What? Brathwaite won’t fetch you coffee?” She snapped back.

Sherlock was stunned by her answer. “I . . . Molly, I would like to speak to you alone.”

“No.” Daniel said moving to stand between Sherlock and Molly.

“Daniel please. I can handle this.” Molly moved to the side. “I am working now Sherlock. If you need to speak to me you can wait till I am off work. And don’t you dare say anything to Daniel.” She turned and went to take care of the other customers now watching the three of them closely.

Sherlock’s gaze moved from Molly’s retreating form to the angry man standing in front of him.

“What could you say to me?” Daniel asked.

“I have no idea what she could be talking about. Shall we?” He stood and marched out from under the tent.

Sherlock was unhappy with himself. He wanted to convince her to return to London, not make her angry. He knew he had handled the initial contact wrong. It was just not what he was expecting to find. Molly was supposed to be pinning for him and missing London. Missing the excitement of cases and working together. Missing him.

She was not supposed to be working in a café like she did when she was a student. She wasn’t supposed to be living in a flat block with a man like Daniel Freeman. Leaving her clothes with his to be launder together. Seeming to be getting on with her life, or to be more exact, someone else’s life. This wasn’t his Molly. This woman had given up medicine and forensics and most importantly, him.

Sherlock walked away from Daniel and disappeared into the crowds in the square. He knew where Molly was and he would speak to her alone when the other man wasn’t able to interrupt them. Sherlock flipped up the collar of his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets. Quickly losing himself in the ancient city.

Daniel stood watching him fade into the crowds. Daniel also knew he had handled the situation badly. He had surprised Molly with the man she obviously had been running away from. He had rushed their fragile new relationship in the man’s face and insulted Molly at the same time. He leaned against the stone works of the building housing the café. He would wait for Molly as he crossed his arms. He wanted to make sure he spoke to her first before the idiot from London did.

Molly was too distracted to finish her shift. After she dropped her third plate of food, she requested the rest of the day off. The owner only too happy to send her on her way. She removed her apron as she pulled on the spare coat Daniel had lent her. His scent surrounding her as she stepped out of the door and into the square. Molly looked up and saw Daniel leaning against the wall waiting for her. She sighed and walked up to him. She stopped in front of him and looked up into his face.

He didn’t say a word but just pulled her into his arms and held her. Resting his chin on her head, he could feel her melt into him. Her hands moving to wrap around his waist as his arms held her shoulders.

After a moment she moved back and looked up at him again.

“You have questions?” She asked. He nodded. “Did he talk to you? Say anything?”

“Only that you worked at St. Bart’s with him.”

“Oh.”

“What else could he have told me?”

“I don’t know, maybe my horrible dating record. How I was besotted with him and he just used me for work.” Daniel growled. Molly leaned in and rested her head on his chest. “I’m sure you can guess, he’s the reason I left London.”

“And the part where you are a doctor?”

“Yes, I was doctor in England, but I don’t have an Italian medical license. I don’t speak the language very well, you keep telling me, and I was tired of being around dead people. I just wanted some life now.”

“Okay. Anything else I need to know?”

“Maybe, I’m not sure. I don’t even know why he is here.”

“Well, let’s go and find out.” Daniel pulled her along and back down the street to their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Mi scusi, sto cercando Hooper Dr' translate to 'Excuse me, I'm looking for Dr. Hooper.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to Benedict Cumberbatch and Sophie Hunter. Now, time for all of us fan girls to start crying.

Sherlock was outside Daniel’s door when Molly and the artist walked into the building. He was leaning against the wall, his head was bent down and his hands were deep in the pockets of the large black coat. Molly sighed when she saw him.

“Sherlock.”

“Molly, do you have your own flat we can speak in?” He asked as he pushed himself off the wall.

Daniel tightened his grip on Molly’s shoulders. Molly stumbled slightly as he accidently puller her off balance.

“Ah, we can talk here.” She said trying not to lose her temper with either man. They were both acting childish.

“Here in the hall?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Surely Molly, I deserve at least a chair to sit in. I’m here to understand what happened. Why you ran away?”

“Isn’t it clear?” Daniel snapped at him. Molly closed her eyes begging silently they wouldn’t fight. Sherlock pulled his shoulders back and squared himself. He tipped his head back so he would look taller than Daniel. The other man was not intimidated.

“Artist, sculptor correct?” Sherlock said. Molly’s eyes flew open enraged.

“Sherlock, don’t you start. I won’t speak to you if you start, do you hear me.” She glared at him. He snapped his mouth shut. She pulled out of Daniel’s embrace and moved down the hall. “Come on, Sherlock. My flat is upstairs. We can talk there.”

Sherlock followed her and reached for the door of the small lift. He pulled it open and held it for Molly to step inside. Sherlock followed her in and closed the door. Turning, he could see Daniel standing just down the hallway, staring at them. Molly pushed the button and the ancient lift rose. Rattling as Sherlock stepped closer to Molly in the confined space.

When they reached the fifth floor, Molly opened the cage and stepped out. Unlocking the door of her flat and stepping into the dark room. She slipped the key fob into the receptacle and the lights turned on. Sherlock looked around the bedsit.

It was a plain simple room. The double bed had been unslept in. The flowers wilting in the vase on the table. The room was stuffy and had been shut up for several days. It may have been Molly’s flat but she had not been it for at least three days. Sherlock walked over to the table and pulled the chair out to sit. His fingers moving to dislodge the petal from the wilting flowers. Molly pulled her coat off and tossed it on the bed, then moved around the room, carefully rearranging photos and knick-knacks. Molly was using the moment to prepare herself for his verbal attack. She went to the window and opened it, letting the cold night air in. She breathed in deeply, the fresh air calming Molly’s nerves. Turning back to face him, she sighed.

“Okay, Sherlock, why are you here?”

“I missed you. I want you to return to London with me.” He answered her as honestly as he could.

“You missed me. You didn’t even know I’m was there.”

He looked away from her. It hurt that she would think that of him. “I may not express properly how much I depend on you, but I feel your presence and your absence deeply.”

Molly was stunned by the statement. She moved to sit down across from him.

“Sherlock, you can say the cruelest things to everyone, then you say things like that to me. How am I supposed to feel about you? How am I supposed to be around you?”

“What was so bad with the way we were together?” He asked.

“Sherlock, you know how I felt about you. It was obvious to everyone and you used it against me.”

“I never meant . . .”

“What? You never meant to hurt her?” Daniel called out from the open door. Molly and Sherlock turned to look at him. “Molly, you don’t need to waste your time with him. Just tell him to leave.”

“Daniel!” Molly started to redden again with frustration at the two men.

Sherlock glared at him. Turning back he could see the anger darken Molly’s face as tears burred her vision.

“Molly there are many different types of relationships. I never purposely hurt you.” Looking back at Daniel. “Nor have I tried to dominate her.”

“Molly is an intelligent woman. . .”

“Quite, she is the youngest pathologist at St. Bartholomew’s and she is also their best.” Sherlock said.

“And I don’t appreciate being bullied by either one of you or spoken about like I’m not even here.” She shouted as the tears started to slide down her face. Both men watched her in silence, admonished by her. “I want to discuss this rationally with you, Sherlock. I want you to understand what you did. And I need to do it alone, Daniel. I don’t need be coddled.”

Sherlock leaned back in the chair as Daniel stepped into the room. Molly looked back and forth between the two men. Both of them looked expectantly at her. Sherlock wanting Molly to bend and conform to his needs, and now Daniel expecting her to give up everything she was to fit his own needs of her. She was caught between two worlds. Her life in London and her life in Florence. The doctor and the lover.

Sherlock could see the fight going on inside Molly’s mind. The anger and frustration. He realized she was fighting what she knew was right and what she thought she wanted. Both men were selfish. Both wanted her as she was for them. Sherlock needed to know what she was for Daniel so he could fight against it. Emotions, sentimentality.

Sherlock stood up. “Molly I’m going to be in Florence for several days. Tonight is not the time to talk. You are upset by my surprise visit. But we still need to talk. I want to meet with you privately and discuss what happened.”

“Alright.” Molly said looking up at him. A pleading sound came from Daniel. Molly ignored it.

“Will you meet me at the café across from the Baptistery tomorrow?” Molly nodded. “Alone?” Sherlock added looking at Daniel.

“Yes.” She said before Daniel could interrupt.

“I will see you at ten.” Sherlock stepped forward and leaned down to lightly kiss Molly’s cheek. Molly blushed. He had only kissed her twice before. Once to apologize and once to thank her for saving his life. What could this kiss be for? Agreeing to meet with him, agreeing to meet alone with him, or agreeing with him instead of Daniel. Molly’s head swam with possibilities. Sherlock always did that to her. Set her off balance where Daniel always centered her. She blinked her tears away as she looked up at Sherlock. His face was blank but his silver blue eyes were bright. He was thinking, planning. Molly was familiar with the look on Sherlock’s face. It worried her.

“Good evening,” Sherlock said to Daniel as he stepped out of the bedsit and started down the five flights of stairs. His expensive shoes tapping softly on the treads as he went. Daniel looked over at Molly who was staring at the open door. Listening to the man walk away.

“Molly, will you come down stairs tonight and sleep in my bed.”

Molly blinked and looked over at him. Daniel was sitting very still on the bed, just watching her.

“Daniel, I think I should stay here tonight.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“Please, I just want to think.”

“I’ll just hold you and let you think. I won’t say a word. Just don’t send me away.”

Molly stood and walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. His face buried in her stomach as her finger went to drag through his blonde hair.

“How did you meet him?” She asked.

“He came here looking for you. I recognized him in the hall.”

“Recognized him? How? I’ve never spoken of Sherlock.”

“The David. You cried when first saw him. When I saw Sherlock, I noticed the dark hair and the brow, and those eyes. Yes, the David doesn’t have the same cheekbones, but their hands are the same. And the intensity of the stare is the same. No wonder you were so upset when you saw the statue. If I had a psychopath like that in my life I would be upset too.”

“He’s not a psychopath, he’s a high functioning sociopath.” She laughed softly. He pulled her down onto the bed.

“Is that what he told you?” She nodded. He leaned down to kiss her. Molly pushed him back.

“No Daniel, I just want to think, to sleep. Please.”

She could see the pain in his face but he nodded. He let her pull herself from his grasp. She stood and closed the door then the window. Daniel stood and pulled the covers down on the bed. Then kicked his shoes off and undressed. Molly turned the lights off and took her clothes off. Taking her hand, he pulled her back into the bed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Spooning up behind her and breathing softly into her hair.

Sherlock stood across the street from the apartment building. He could see the lights go out in Molly’s flat and he could also tell that Daniel had not returned to his flat. Sherlock could feel the burning pain in his chest but could not understand its meaning. He pushed himself off the brick wall and walked alone down the empty street. He needed to think.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry just a short chapter this time.

Sherlock sat in the corner of the small pastry shop drinking his expresso watching the clock above the cash register. It was five minutes to ten in the morning. Molly would be there soon.

It seemed everyone was smoking in Florence, so Sherlock indulged himself. Breathing deeply the warm smoke, letting it pause of over his tongue to taste the tobacco before exhaling. The cigarette had almost a fruity taste to it. He looked down at the pack and noticed the tobacco was from the West Africa. Pulling out his notebook he jotted down a quick note to himself to update his monograph on ash.

He took one more drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out. Molly would disapprove so he didn’t want her to find him smoking. He finished his coffee and waited. He was sitting where he could see both doors of the small shop. The one to the east that opened up onto the square, and the one on the north side to the street.

She entered from the east. Molly stepped up to the counter and ordered, then nodded towards the table and joined him. Carefully pulling her bulky cloth purse over her head and setting it down next to her in the chair. Sherlock smiled as he noticed Molly was still unfashionable in her dress. Living in Italy for three months hadn’t changed that about her, maybe other things hadn’t changed either.

“Where is your body guard?” Sherlock asked. Molly frowned at him before answering him.

“Daniel is working today. And he is not my bodyguard, he just cares about me. He is protective.”

“You bring that out in us.” Sherlock said.

Molly cocked her head to the side watching him. “What do you mean?”

“You make us want to protect you. Keep you safe. You’re like a lost child in the woods and we’re your huntsmen come to save you.”

“I don’t need saving Sherlock. And who are we? All I see is you.”

“Myself, Daniel, John, Lestrade, even Meat Daggers.”

“His name was Tom.” The waitress brought over Molly’s coffee and a pastry. “I don’t think ‘Jim from IT’ thought of himself as very protective.”

“But he was.” Sherlock said as he tapped on his cup to let the waitress know he wanted another. Molly looked carefully at Sherlock when he answered her. “He broke off his relationship with you as soon as he met me. He didn’t drag it out longer and harm you either emotionally or physically. He could of you know. Anyone else, he would have enjoyed harming if it would harm me.”

She looked away sipping her coffee. Molly didn’t like to remember how close she had come to danger when it turned out she had been duped by James Moriarty.

“Thank you for meeting with me Molly.” Sherlock said as he became suddenly very interested in staring at a stain on the table cloth. Tracing the faded outline with his finger. “I realize now that it was me that drove you away although I’m not exactly sure what I did.”

“It wasn’t just you, Sherlock.” She tried to lie to him, but knew she failed as he looked up and glared at her. “I was tired of being ignored.”

“Ignored, well that is new, but so is running away. Most people after deciding I’m not worth the trouble just tell me to piss off instead of fleeing into the night.”

“I didn’t flee into the night.”

“What time of day was it when you decided to leave?”

“Night time. Okay, but I didn’t flee.”

“You abandoned your career and left your cat behind. What would you call it?” He asked studying her face.

“I . . . I just wanted something different. I wanted to be more than I was.”

“Molly, you were Dr. Molly Hooper of London. You were the person I could depend on, trust. You were the one who mattered the most.” Sherlock whispered.

Molly blinked several times. Her heart started pounding in her chest. “How could I matter when you forgot about me?”

“I never forgot about you.”

“You called me John.” She accused.

“I shared my work with you.” He replied. “You are part of my work. I wanted more but then I realized it wouldn’t happen. You were engaged. Then when you weren’t, you weren’t speaking to me.”

“You chose to go back to the drugs instead. Then there was that Irish tart.”

“It was for a case. All of it was for a case.” He said exasperated again by the accusation in her voice.

“There was no reason for you to ever to back to drugs, not again. Not even for John.” Sherlock tipped his head back. “Yes, I know that for John you would move heaven and earth. But me, you couldn’t even remember my name.”

“I had to stop an evil man.” He looked down at his empty coffee cup. Where was that damn waitress with his expresso? “Molly, I thought you knew. I thought you understood.”

“How could I? You never spoke to me.”

“I didn’t have too. I didn’t want too.”

“What?”

“If I spoke to you, you would find me repulsive and leave. Everyone else leaves. Just like that, you did.”

“Sherlock, repulsive is not a word I would ever use to describe you. I just felt less of myself around you.” He sighed and shifted in his chair. “I wanted to be more than just some piece of lab equipment you use when need and forgotten about till later.”

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel less of yourself. Molly, you are and shall always be important to me.”

Molly sat back in her chair watching him. She could see the resignation play across his face. “I must be important. That’s twice now you’ve apologized to me without me asking.”

“And you’re the only one who won’t let me get away with anything. You are the only one who holds me accountable. I must be important to you too.” His voice wavered slightly as he looked into her brown eyes.

Yes, Sherlock was important to her. Always had been, always would be. But was he the most important person in Molly’s life. Shouldn’t that person be herself? Molly could feel her palms start to sweat as she sat under his hard gaze.

“Molly, come away with me?” Sherlock asked remaining very still as he did so. “I’m going to Siena for the weekend. Come with me.”

“I . . . I can’t . . . why?” She felt her mouth dry. What would Daniel say if he heard this?

“Come with me. I prefer Siena over Florence. Come with me, let me show the city.”

“I can’t just up and go to Siena.”

“You up and left your career and life in London overnight moving to another county. I believe you can spend a weekend in a city a few miles away.”

“Sherlock, I . . . what exactly are you asking of me?” Molly said afraid of the answer.

“I’m asking you to come to one of the cities I love and see it with me. I’m asking you to spend the weekend with me in a medieval city. Just spend time with me.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Sherlock could feel breath coming back into his body. He smiled. Molly had seen that smile. It was the special one he only had for John. It was personal and private. She gasped slightly and nodded her head.

“Good, I’ll lease a car and pick you up tomorrow morning at your flat.”

“Okay.”


	9. Chapter 9

Daniel had been furious with Molly as she left the next day with Sherlock. He had stood on the pavement in front of the apartment block with his arms crossed over his chest glaring at the detective as Molly begged him to just be patient with her.

Sherlock didn’t say a word as they drove through the country side to Siena. Molly sat silently watching the winter scenery speed past. He left the car in the carpark at the city walls, as he carried both of their overnight bags into the medieval city. As he walked into the city he stopped a church of San Domenico on the hill. Taking Molly’s hand, he stepped up the stone steps into it. Molly was pulled along behind him, confused as to where he was going.

The building was large with several pilgrims praying inside. There were tour guides speaking in hushed voices while walking small crowds through the grand old church, pointing out various relics. Sherlock ignored them and walked straight across the open floor to a small chapel. Inside was a wooden and gold gilt shrine. In the center was a glass box. Within the glass box was a bluish white face.

“Saint Catherine.” Sherlock said as Molly stood stunned looking at it. “She was a saint from fourteenth century. She helped convince Pope Gregory the Eleventh to return the papacy to Rome from France. She’s one of the two patron saints of Italy. A woman.”

“And that’s her head?” Molly asked surprised by Sherlock.

“Yes, and her thumb is over there.”

“Her thumb?”

“Yes, a holy relic.” He stepped over to the glass case on the wall. “It was remarkable that a woman could be so important six hundred years ago, but she was a remarkable person. Intelligent and forceful while still being obedient to the calling.”

Molly looked up into Sherlock’s face. He was studying Molly’s response to what he was saying.

“There are remarkable woman everyday Sherlock.”

“No, only occasionally. Just like men. I have been fortunate to know three.”

“Three?”

“Yes.”

Molly turned away, avoiding his trick, and walked slowly away to see the other displays in the ancient church. Sherlock knitted his brow in frustration and followed her.

Sherlock walked them down the narrow cobblestone streets of Siena and to the hotel just a few blocks from the compass square. Molly was relieved when she heard him distinctively ask for two rooms. The clerk graciously taking their bags so they could walk around the city.

Sherlock walked side by side with Molly and told her about the Siena. He walked up the hill the Duomo. The beautiful white and black stone façade with the glass mosaics over the arches. Molly was surprised to see the bronze statue of Romulus and Remus suckling at the wolf.

“The city was founded by Romans, Molly. It is one of the few cities in the world that hasn’t changed much since the medieval times. The plague took half the population and since then the city just existed.” Sherlock explained. Walking down the street, he explained to her about the districts and the Palio, the horse race. He was animated as he talked. Waving his hands and excited by the stories. Molly smiled and laughed as he described the pageantry and the sheer excitement of the near wild horses running around the square.

“How do you know so much about Siena?” She asked as they stepped into a small café for lunch.

“My mother used to lecture her in the winter. Three years. I was eight the first time we came. The next year when I was nine, Mycroft was away at school, and my father couldn’t keep up with me. I wandered all over the city as a child.”

“Weren’t you scared?” She asked worried about a small boy lost in a city alone.

“No, the Italians were very friendly and I was quick with languages. I was speaking it fluently by the time we left the first time.”

“Where else did your mother lecture?” This being the first time Sherlock shared any of the childhood memories with Molly, she wanted to know more.

“Winters here, summers were Paris and Munich. I spoke French before we went to Paris but I learned German there. By the time I was sixteen though she had stopped lecturing. I was off to school and they chose to stay home.”

After lunch, they walked more. Sherlock took her down to a museum to see the costumes and banners for the Palio and photos of the race. Then he took her down the compass square to show her where the race took place.

Molly had never seen Sherlock like this. He was talking but not deducing. He was remembering, reliving parts of his childhood. He pointed out shops and told her about the people who used to work there. He talked about the adventures he would have, making Molly laugh at the thought of a smaller version of Sherlock lose in the city. The time he played the fountain in the square. Pretending it was a pirate ship under attack. Jumping off the marble statues and into the water. He talked about wanting to play with other children but how he scared them away. There was a pained timbre in his voice as he talked about that. After that he didn’t talk anymore.

They sat at a café and had tea while Sherlock sat silently watching the crowds walk pass. He ignored the cup and the pastry in front of him, as he considered each and every person who stepped into his line of sight.

“Sherlock, why am I here?” Molly asked finally.

“I don’t know Molly. You’re the one who ran away.”

“No,” she shook her head slightly. “Why am I here with you in Siena?”

“I wanted to show you the city. It’s one of my favorite cities in the world.” He pushed the tea cup away. “I was relieved I didn’t have to come here while I was away.” He sighed and looked around the small café. “I was relived Moriarty hadn’t set up any of his crime network here for me to come and dismantle. I didn’t want to have memories of that here.”

“But you wanted to have memories with me here?” She asked. “I mean you wanted to share Siena with me?”

He looked up at her, his bright silver blue eyes scanning her face. “Yes. It is important to me, just like you are.”

The statement both thrilled and hurt. Molly leaned back in her chair and turned away from his gaze. She looked up and down the street and the people.

“It is a beautiful city.”

“Yes it is.”

She blinked trying to settle her emotions. “Do you like it more than London?”

“No. Nothing is as special as London.” He said his voice dipping lower. “London is everything to me.” He looked down at the cup of cool tea. “As you know Molly, I’m not one for emotional responses. I am quite unfamiliar with them and their proper use. John has repeated told me I need to learn to apply them appropriately. That is probable why I only have two people I consider close.”

“Two?” she asked quickly sorting through all the people Sherlock knew.

“John is my only friend and you.” He said refusing to look up at her.

“Me! Sherlock how can you say that?! You have many friends. Greg and Mrs. Hudson. Mary and that boy Bill. All the people you have helped. The ones who came to your funeral. You are important to many people.”

“I’m useful to many people. Lestrade is a means to an end. He supplies me with cases, I give him solutions. I’m the son Mrs. Hudson will never have. The story is the same for the others. Only you and John are around me without asking for anything in return. You put up with my eccentricities and temper and do not make demands on me. John is my friend and you . . .” He paused.

“Yes? I’m what?” she asked.

“Let’s go. There are other things I want to show you.” He stood up and walked away, not waiting for her.

He walked for an hour without speaking. Molly was afraid to break the silence. After they paused in front of the statue of Garibaldi, Sherlock broke the silence.

“He was seeing another woman.”

Molly’s head snapped up and looked at him.

“Who? Garibaldi or . . . not Daniel. He wouldn’t! He’s been good to me!” She almost shouted.

“No, my father. That’s why he didn’t keep track of me while we were here. Once, when my mother was lecturing, he took me over to her apartment. She had candied fruits for me. When they weren’t looking I took off. After that, I ran away from him every time he started to walk to her flat. By the second week, he just let me leave the place we staying and not ask what I was doing. I kept his secret, he kept mine. My mother never knew I was loose in the city while she was at the University.”

“Oh, I . . . I didn’t know.” Molly look away. She could hear the pain in his voice. “Did he stay in touch with her after you left here?”

“I told him the last time we here, if he saw her again, I would tell Mummy. He said he would break it off. I have no reason to believe he lied to me. I never saw any signs of his infidelity after that last summer.” Sherlock turned to walk away. Molly quickly followed him.

“You still love this city after that?” Molly asked.

“This was the happiest place of my childhood. Of course I still have feelings for this city. But I also learned about emotions here, love, desire, lust, and hate. I learned they make a man forget about what is most important in his life.” Sherlock’s strides grew longer and Molly fought to keep up to pace with him.

“Sherlock please, slow down.” Molly gasped as Sherlock turned down a narrow street between the tall buildings. The sun was setting and the shadows creased the alley in streaks of light and dark.

Suddenly, Molly felt him grab her shoulders and pull her close. His hand slipped up and cupped her cheek. His callous thumb gently stroked over her cheekbone. Unconsciously, she brought her hands up and rested them on his upper arms. Feeling the heat off his body through the fabric of his black coat. Sherlock leaned closer, dipping his head down to gently rub his lips against hers. Molly’s hands reached up and her fingers combed through his dark curls as she gasped slightly. Her body started to shake as he pulled her tighter.

His tongue licked lightly across her bottom lip and Molly opened her mouth to him. Hesitantly, he explored with his tongue, tasting her and listening to her groan. Molly gently tugged on his hair and he plunged deeper into her mouth. No longer hesitant but insistent, wanting.

After shared tastes and explorations, he pulled back.

“Molly, stay with me.” He whispered.

“Sherlock!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of angst ahead.

“Molly, stay with me.” He whispered.

“Sherlock!”

“Molly, don’t leave me, stay with me.” He pushed her backwards till her body was pushed up against the wall. “I don’t want you stay here. Come home with me.” He kissed her cheeks and her forehead as his voice pleaded over her skin.

“Sherlock, I can’t . . . I don’t . . . please don’t ask me to choose.” She whispered into his neck.

He pulled back slightly and returned to her lips. Kissing her deeply. Growling as she tried to pull away from him.

“You are mine, Molly Hooper! You know you are mine! Stay with me!” His lips grazed over hers as he demanded.

His hands moved lower pulling her hips to his. She gasped as she felt his arousal. He bent lower and started kissing her neck, growling.

“Sherlock . . . Sherlock . . . Sherlock stop!” She whispered harshly. “Stop, I . . . what are you doing?!”

He leaned back and towered over her.

“Molly, I want you come back to London with me. I want you stay with me, to stay by my side. Never leaving me!”

Molly blinked her eyes rapidly, listening to him while he was overwhelming her with his presence. She tried to pull away from him, but Sherlock refused to let go of her. Molly’s heart was pounding and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Sherlock, why? What are you saying?”

He pulled back further watching her. “I’m telling you, I want you.”

Molly started struggling in his arms. Pushing as hard as she could to escape his grasp. Confused Sherlock held on to her. Holding her tight.

“NO! NO . . . not again! Sherlock, let go of me!” Molly shouted. People were stopping, watching the two of them.

Sherlock pulled back and dropped his hands, while his face covered with confusion and surprise.

“Molly? What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you want?”

“Sherlock, I not a toy! You can’t demand me to follow you when all you will do is forget me when we get back to London!”

“Molly?”

“No, Sherlock! I’m a human being. You may not want to care but I do. I want more than you are willing to give me.” She got her hands on his chest and shoved him backwards. He stumbled as he took several steps back. “Daniel is good to me. Italy is good for me. All you want is for me to return to London and be available for you on your terms. Not mine. No! I can’t live that way any longer!”

“Molly, I can’t be what I’m not!” he pleaded with her.

“And neither can I! Take me back to the hotel now! Take me back!” She shouted. Men were stopping and moving closer. She shook her head at them and started to walk away from Sherlock. “Mi scusi.” She said to them.

Sherlock glared at her would-be rescuers and started to follow after Molly. Half a block from the alley, he finally step up beside her.

“The hotel is this way.” He pointed down a street with several cafes open with light and music pouring out into the street. He turned down the road and Molly walked beside him. “I do have feelings you know.” He said softly almost to himself.

Molly huffed and kept walking.

“I do actually care about you, Molly Hooper. I care about what happens to you. I may not be in tuned to social protocols but I am concerned about you.”

“Sherlock just stop it. You know my buttons and you constantly push them. When I didn’t leap at your demands to return, you tried to insult me. You tried to flatter me earlier, and when that didn’t work you played on my sympathies. Finally, you try to seduce me. You actually think I want to sleep with you while I’m involved with Daniel. Quit playing with my emotions. Stop it. I’m not Mousy Molly anymore.”

“I never called you that. I would never call you that.” He whispered.

“Why, because people call you freak, you know what it feels like to be humiliated by the man you love.”

Sherlock stopped walking.

“You love me?” Sherlock asked haltingly.

“I . . . I don’t know . . . I thought I did. I wanted to. But no matter what I did, you never saw me.” Molly stopped and started to wipe her eyes. “I wanted to be in love with you and you to be in love with me.”

“Molly, I don’t know how to be in love.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now.” She took off walking again.

“It will always matter to me.” He said as he caught up to her. She refused to acknowledge him. Molly just kept walking till they reached the hotel.

The clerk handed over their suitcases and their keys. Molly quickly grabbed hers and rushed up to her room. Ignoring Sherlock calling out to her. As soon as she reached her room, she quickly entered then locked the door. She collapsed on the bed crying.

It had been a roller coaster of a day. Sherlock had started sharing his childhood with her. It was wonderful. She never felt closer to him. He was funny and engaging. Then he told her about his father and his infidelity. She could tell how hurt the young boy had been. How difficult it was for Sherlock to stand up to his father about his mistress. It let Molly get a glimpse of the man she had never had before. A moment to understand why Sherlock shunned contact.

But then Sherlock kissed her. Something she always wanted, something she always dreamed about. His lips on hers. His breath over her skin. It was thrilling, intoxicating, and so very wrong. It hurt as she thought he only did it to trick her. He did it only so she would unconsciously compare Sherlock to Daniel. Compare the man of her dreams to the man of her reality. Yes Sherlock was still there in her dreams, still there in her heart. And that very same heart was now hurting.

She heard the chime of a text alert from her mobile. Molly reached for her phone. Looking down she saw the message from Daniel.

_‘I miss you.-D’_

She quickly typed back.

_‘I miss you too. I wish we were together.-M’_

_‘Are you alright?’_

_‘Yes, I’m fine.’_

_‘Will I see you tomorrow?’_

_‘Of course, I love you.’_

Molly sent the text before she realized what she had typed. She stared down at the words on the screen in shock. Did she really love him? Why had she written that? Was it because of the conversation she had with Sherlock earlier? Before she could answer herself, her mobile rang in hand.

“Hello?”

“Molly?” It was Daniel. “Is it true? Did you really mean that?” He asked. She knew what he was asking.

“I . . . I want to believe it’s true. I care about you.” The whole emotional day was pressing down on her.

“You wrote I love you.”

“Yes.”

The line went silent for a moment. Then he said. “I love you too, Molly Hooper.”

Molly swallowed quickly. She blinked the tears from her eyes and laid down on the bed. Resting her head on the pillows, she spoke.

“Daniel, this has been a very strange day. Sherlock talked to me like he never has before. He told me things about his childhood. Growing up while living here in Siena. Things I never knew before. It was different, strange.”

“Did he ask you to return to London with him?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not going to, are you?”

“No. It was wrong. I want to stay here in Italy.”

“With me?”

“Yes, with you.”

“I love you too.” He said again. Then he wished her a goodnight. Molly hung the phone up and looked up at the ceiling.

This was insane. People didn’t fall in love this quickly. People didn’t up and leave their lives and move to foreign countries and fall in love. But Molly had. She smiled. She wasn’t Mousy Molly anymore. She was more.

*****

They drove back to Florence in silence again. Sherlock driving quickly through the winter countryside. He pulled the car to the curb in front of Molly’s apartment block and parked. Molly got out of the car looking up to see Daniel, standing by the door waiting for her. Molly rushed over and hugged the blonde man. His arms were warm and she could feel him bury his nose into her hair to breath in her scent.

Sherlock retrieved Molly’s overnight bag from the boot and set it down on the pavement by her feet.

“Good bye, Dr. Hooper.” Sherlock said as he stood up very straight and tall. “I believe I will not be seeing you again.”

Molly twisted in Daniel’s arms to look up at Sherlock. Daniel gripped tighter, holding her close to him.

“Sherlock?”

“I have decide to end my holiday in Italy. I will be returning to Rome by train this morning. Then I will fly back to England.” Sherlock started to turn away, then paused and turned back to Molly. “Dr. Hooper . . . Molly, everything I said in Siena . . . it wasn’t a trick. I do care. I have cared. I wanted more with you. I am sorry that you can’t believe me, but . . . you are . . . were . . . the reason I tried. The only person I wanted to be better for. You are my honor and my morality. My North Star. My compass point. I wanted to be the person you believed I was. Your hero.”

Molly could hear his voice start to break.

“Good bye, Molly Hooper,” he whispered as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I do love you.”

And with that he turned and left. Tears were rolling down Molly’s face. She knew for once he was telling her the absolute truth. There were no more games, no more tricks. He was telling her the truth about himself and his life and them. She was loved. She was loved by Sherlock Holmes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An emotional chapter.
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful comments and kudos. I am so happy you find as enjoyable reading it as I do writing it.

Daniel could feel the emotional shift in Molly as they watched as Sherlock drove away. Daniel could feel her shaking in his arms. The sudden drawing into herself and away from him. It was heart breaking. After a few moments he carefully guided her into his flat. He gently twisted her around again so her face was buried in his chest. He stood still and let her cry in his arms, while he rested his chin on the top of her head. When she seemed to have cried herself out, he moved her over to the couch to sit down. He wrapped her up in blanket and went to his kitchen. He fixed her a cup of English tea and came back over and sat down beside her. Handing the cup to her, he asked.

“Molly are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She whispered setting the cup down.

He moved closer and pulled her over so she could lay against his chest again. “You don’t need to lie to me. I know you’re hurting. I know you care about him. It’s okay.”

Molly started to cry again and he wrapped his arms around her frail body. Holding her tight, she wept in his arms. After a while Daniel felt her sigh and snuggle closer to him. He looked down and saw Molly had fallen asleep from emotional exhaustion. He carefully moved her over and then stood up. He picked her up gently and carried her to his bed. He pulled off her shoes and covered her with a blanket. Daniel watched her sleep. Her face occasionally twitching from dreams. He crawled into the bed beside her and spooned up behind her, whispering soothing words into her hair as she whimpered in her dreams. As he leaned over her and kissed her temple, he carefully laid a protective arm over her limp body. He could feel the burn in his eyes from unshed tears as he held Molly. His Molly.

Daniel could feel the difference in her after Sherlock told her he loved her. He could tell she was fighting inside herself. He didn’t know how to help her. He didn’t know what to say to her. He felt a void opening up between them. An unescapable hole splitting them apart. It hurt.

*****

When Molly woke it was dark. She was warm and uncomfortable. She didn’t like sleeping in her clothes. Lifting the blanket off her, she found out another reason to be so warm. Daniel was plastered to her back, with his arm lightly resting on her hip. When she moved the blanket he awoke.

“Molly?”

“It’s okay. I’m just going to get some water.” She slipped out of the bed and walked into the bathroom.

Molly washed her face and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and she thought she looked paler. Molly noticed her hand shaking as she filled the glass from the tap. She drank down two glasses full of water before she felt better. Setting the glass down, Molly gripped the edge of the porcelain sink steading herself.

Sherlock had told her he loved her. He had said the words and meant it. The very thing she had hoped for years to hear, she heard and it only brought her pain and confusion. He told her he loved her and she sent him away. She knew she loved Sherlock, but she also loved Daniel. The question was who she loved and who was she in love with. She was suddenly light headed and felt like her legs were going to give out.

She sat down hard on the tile floor. Grunting as she hit the ground. The room was swimming and she felt sick. Warm hands were wrapping around her torso and pulling her up. Suddenly her feet left the floor and she felt herself being carried. Daniel had picked up and was carrying her bridal style.

He found her passed out on the bathroom floor after he heard the crash of her falling. Daniel rushed into the small room and picked her up. Gently laying her down on the bed, Daniel dragged his fingers through her hair.

“Molly, darling! Are you alright?!”

“I’m . . . I think I fainted . . . I feel so weak.” She trailed off. Daniel rushed into the kitchen and pour a glass of orange juice and brought it back to her.

“You are probable crashing on low blood sugar.” He said as he helped lift her head to drink. She carefully sipped the juice and then pulled back, sighing.

“Listen to you, just like a doctor.” She tried to sound cheery.

“No you’re the doctor, right.” Molly’s eyes flashed up at him. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“Like what?”

Daniel stood and moved away from the bed and paced around the room once before going to sit in a chair on the far side of the room.

“I don’t know, would I? Is there anything you think I should know?”

Molly shook her head.

“Maybe like you are a member of the royal family, or you know the cure for AIDS or . . . you slept with Sherlock last night.”

Molly twisted in the bed to face him.

“No to all those questions.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, nodding.

“I’m sorry I had no right to ask. I just needed to know.”

“Daniel, my feeling for you haven’t changed. I love you.”

“I know you do. I can feel it. But I also know you love him.”

“It’s different with him.”

“Of course it is. I’m the man you make love to. I the man you find in your bed. I make you laugh and smile and . . . but he is in there.” Daniel pointed at Molly’s chest. “He is embedded inside of you. He has hold of a piece of your heart I can never reach. He lives in your soul.”

Molly crawled out of the bed and across the floor. She knelt in front of Daniel, bring her hand up to cup his cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here with you. He left me.”

“He drove away. He will never leave you, Molly.”

“Daniel stop saying those things. Stop it!” Molly was starting to cry again.

Daniel slipped off the chair and knelt on the floor. He pulled Molly into his arms and held her tight. He could feel her tiny frame shaking.

“Molly, oh my beautiful Molly. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. We are meant to be together. We are happy together.”

He wanted to believe that would be enough. That would hold them together, but he knew.

“Molly, you are here with me because of him. You ran away because of him. You came here because of him. Everything you do is because of him. He still has a part of you I can never touch. I can never drive him out of you. You will always be part of him.”

“Shut up! Please, God, shut up!” she begged. “I want to stay. I don’t want to be what I was.”

He pulled her close and held her, feeling her warm tears fall on him. He wanted to wipe those tears way and never see them again. He want to rip Sherlock from Molly’s brain, so she would never think of him again. He wanted to possess her so completely no one would ever separate them.

“You know your heart want one thing and you mind tells you want something else. The mind cannot lead the heart.”

“My heart wants you.” She whispered.

“Molly you haven’t even kissed me once since he arrived her three days ago.”

She leaned forward and peppered his face with kisses.

“Just stop talking, please. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to think about it. Just stop.” She wept was she kissed him.

Daniel reached for her, twisting her so she would sit in his lap. His arms wrapping around her to hold her. Wishing his grip was sufficient to hold her here with him. That his strength alone was enough to keep her bound to him. Daniel closed his eyes and relieved every moment he had with Molly. Every smile, every kiss, every touch. He bent down and kissed her neck, smelling the warm scent of the woman. His Molly. His beautiful, lovely Molly.

If only he could keep her in their little flat. The world they shared. The bed they first made love in. Daniel buried his face into her brown hair and wanted nothing more than to just stay just like that.


	12. Chapter 12

John unlocked the door to 221 Baker Street. He walked in and paused at the foot of the stairs. He could hear the violin music for the flat above. It was light and lyrical then it changed to melancholy and pained. The notes were the same but they were drawn out. Extra cords were slipped into phrases. It was heartbreakingly sad.

John thought back to the last time he seen Sherlock. It had been a three weeks ago when he had returned to London from Italy. It was after midnight and Sherlock was knocking on the Watson’s front door. John opened the door to find his best friend standing there looking utterly destroyed. His face drawn tight over his cheek bones and his eyes red and sunken. His hair disheveled and his hands trembling.

“Sherlock? What’s happened?” John asked helping his friend into the flat.

“I’ve lost her John. She’s gone.”

“Who’s gone? Molly?”

“She wouldn’t come home. I’ve lost her.”

“Sherlock are you sure?”

“She’s found someone else.” Sherlock collapsed in the chair, his face buried in his hands.

John watched as his friend sat there, silently sobbing. His face covered by his hands. John tried to think of something encouraging say but he was at a loss. He couldn’t imagine who could take Molly from Sherlock. John moved beside Sherlock to slowly rub his back with his hand. After several moments, Sherlock stopped shaking. He sat up and seemed to lock himself into place. Sherlock stood, and without saying a single word, he left. He just left.

When John tried calling him later, Sherlock would not answer his mobile. He was ignoring all text messages. Greg had tried to call him in for cases, but Sherlock refused. Mycroft had called John asking if he could verify if his brother was even still alive. No one having seen him for a week and half. Sherlock slipping away from Baker Street every time Mycroft appeared at the door. Now John stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the flat above him, trying to decide how to get Sherlock out of the building.

He heard the door open of the ground floor flat and a worried looking Mrs. Hudson step out to him. A handkerchief folded around her fingers as she chewed at her knuckle.

“Oh John, I’m so scared. I’ve never seen him like this. Not since that Christmas three years ago. He won’t eat, and I’ve heard him up walking around and playing his violin at all hours. I’m worried for him. He looks awful.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll take care of him. We’ll both look after him.” He patted her shoulder and she cooed as she watched him climb the stairs.

The mournful music filling the stairwell and the upper flat of the tiny building. John stepped through the doorway and into the sitting room of 221B. Sherlock’s back was turned to the door. He was swaying as he played. His dressing gown moving with him. John could see he was barefoot and wearing his pajamas.

Sherlock turned as he continued to play. His eyes closed, but John was certain the man knew he was there. Sherlock’s face was drawn and ghostly pale. His cheeks appeared even more hollow than normal. The skin tight over his cheek bones. His eyes were darken and bruised. The man’s dark curls laid limp and dirty; clinging to his scalp. His clothes, which appeared to not been changed in days, seemed to hang loosely on the thin frame of his body. John was shocked when he saw his friend. Sherlock was in worse shape than he realized.

It looked like he hadn’t eaten in days, or bathed in weeks, or slept even longer. Sherlock looked like a shell of the man John had known. His skin across the back of his hands was thin and taught. Translucent, where the tendons and bones seemed to be visible through it. His finger bending and moving as he played on, as if compelled to complete the song even if caused him his life.

“Sherlock?” John called out softly. Then feeling his voice catch, John cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Sherlock, you’re needed.”

The man opened his eyes. The intense silver blue was still blazing in the sunken sockets. Sherlock drew the bow slowly across the strings, dragging out the last sorrowful note before he pulled the instrument down and walked over to his music stand. Sherlock picked up a pencil and wrote more noted down on the sheet music.

“John, I’m busy. Go away.”

“Sherlock, when was the last time you ate?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m busy.” Sherlock kept his back to his friend.

“Busy killing yourself. Is she really worth it?” John asked moving closer. Sherlock spun and glared at his friend. “Sherlock, she moved on. How long do you plan on pinning over her?”

“I’m not pinning and you have no idea what is going on.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

“You lost your chance with Molly Hooper. She moved on. And you are holding up in your flat mooning over her. Was she really worth all this? She was just some little mousy pathologist. Was she worth giving up the work? Not eating? Bathing? Caring?”

Sherlock tipped his head back, he was furious with John. How dare John call her mousy! How could John even imagine the value Molly was to him?

“Caring in a not an advantage.” Sherlock said as he put the violin down in its case. “And I haven’t given up the work. I wouldn’t give up the work for anyone.”

“Lestrade has had cases for you. Several and you ignored him.” John stepped closer. He knew he had come at this in the right direction. Maybe he would be able to get Sherlock out of the flat.

“He had nothing above a four.”

“He’s got a ten.” John said with a smile. “Spontaneous human combustion in a bathtub of water.”

“Unlikely. Spontaneous human combustion does not exist.” Sherlock’s mind started moving forward again against his will.

“Burned to a crisp.”

“Speculative.” He could feel the twinge run up his spine at an unsolvable puzzle being presented to him.

“While bathing.”

“Impossible.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, then narrowed his gaze. “Damage to the body?”

“I was going over to Bart’s for the autopsy later today.” John knew he had him hooked.

“Brathwaite, oh, great.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“No, a new pathologist.” John’s eyes twinkled.

Sherlock started to move towards the kitchen. “Let me change.”

“How about a shower first.” John teased. “I’m glad to see you have decided to get over your melancholia for Molly.”

Sherlock stopped moving and turned to look coldly at John.

“Don’t ever say her name to me again.”

Sherlock continued to the bathroom to shower.

*****

Daniel’s hand moved over the hip of the sculptor. The familiar curve and slope of the body. He smiled sadly. He knew that curve well, and every other inch of the model of the statue. But Daniel knew no matter how hard he tried, the marble flesh would never be like Molly’s. It would never be as soft and flawless as hers.

He let his fingers trace up the reclining body to the head. He had her face turned slightly away from the front. Looking off into the distance, with a slight pout on her plump lips as if she was thinking. Her tiny nose curving slightly up in an impish manner. She was lovely. The best work he had ever done. Molly, his Molly. She was beautiful, but would never be as beautiful as the model.

He cupped the cheek of the marble statue and stepped to look into its eyes. He wanted to see the chocolate brown of Molly’s but instead saw the perfect white. Yes the statue was perfect, but it still was not his Molly.

*****

Sherlock was bent over the body on the autopsy table. From mid-torso down was the body of a well-nourished adult male. There was slight skin slippage from being submerged in water for a prolonged period of time but no other injuries. Above the mid-torso was the remains of a burned victim. The shoulder, neck, head, and arms nothing but charred remains.

Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass and was studying the lines of demarcation between the burnt and unburnt flesh when he heard the door open and sound of trainers walking across the vinyl flooring. He noticed both John and Lestrade smile and move across the room.

“I’m so glad to see you.” Sherlock heard Lestrade say and then John say.

“It hasn’t been the same.”

Sherlock stood up and quickly spun around. Both men were hugging a person in scrubs wearing a surgeon’s cap.

“It feels strange to be back, but in a good way.” Sherlock knew that voice. He had heard it ever time his body defied him and drifted off to sleep. It was the voice he heard in his dreams. Molly.

He stepped closer to the three people. John looked up as Sherlock approached slowly. John stepped back so Sherlock could see Molly smiling up at them. Then she noticed Sherlock. A slight blush tinged her cheeks then rapidly disappeared.

“Molly . . . I . . . you’re here . . . I’m glad to see . . . you returned, Dr. Hooper.” Sherlock’s tongue didn’t seem to want to work properly. He was struggling to speak. “I hope you had a pleasant holiday.” He seemed to gain some control again.

Molly sighed and walked passed him and to the table.

“Alright, men shall we begin. Mable, I’m ready when you are.”

*****

Molly sat in her office reading through the paperwork left behind for her by Brathwaite. Sherlock was correct, the man was an idiot. While she had been away for four months, two separate organ scales had been broken and none of the medical students had completed their practicals for the last quarter.

Molly struggled to stay focuses on the paperwork and not let her mind wonder back to Florence and the last time she saw Daniel. The sculptor had told her it was useless. She would never love him like she loved Sherlock. He could never fill her heart to replace the other man. No matter what Molly said, it was obvious to both of them that he was right. When he had reached for her that last day they were together, tried to kiss her and make love to her, she pulled backed away from him. Sherlock’s words flooding into her head.

_“Molly, everything I said in Siena . . . it wasn’t a trick. I do care. I have cared. I wanted more with you. I am sorry that you can’t believe me, but you are the reason I tried. The only person I wanted to be better for. You are my honor and my morality. My North Star. My compass point. I wanted to be the person you believed I was. Your hero.”_

Her brain told her to stay with Daniel but her heart wanted Sherlock. Daniel could feel it as she hesitated at his touch. The blonde stepped back and looked down at her. His bright artic blue eyes shining with tears. He kissed her cheek and left. Walking out into the winter night and not returning for several days. When he had, he was not surprised to see she had packed her few belongings and was moving back to London. He kissed her goodbye at the train station and told her if she ever was able to free herself for Sherlock, he would be waiting for her.

It had been difficult to return, but everyone was excited to see her again. Mike Stanford not only gladly hired her back but gave her a pay raise. The staff of the morgue were happy to see her again, complaining of Brathwaite’s incompetence. Even Toby her cat was pleased she returned and didn’t hiss at her as she pick him up for the first time in four months.

Now she sat in the silence of the morgue after hours. There was so much administrative paperwork that had fallen behind in her absence. She was finish up with the last preliminary report on a case when she heard the door open to her office.

“Mable, find out how damaged those scales are. If they are reparable, find out if it’s cost effective or just cheaper to buy new ones.” Molly said without looking up.

A mug of coffee was set down on the table in front of her. Only Daniel ever thought enough of her to bring her coffee. Molly paused from her writing and looked at the cup, then up into the face of the man who brought it. The dark curls and unnerving silver-blue eyes.

“Sherlock?!”

He smiled quickly then schooled his features into a neutral expression.

“Welcome home, Molly. I’m relieved to see you have returned. Will you be staying?”

“Yes, Sherlock.” She said not smiling.

“Will your friend, Mr. Freeman be joining you?” Sherlock asked while flexing his fists behind his back.

“No, Daniel and I decide to call it quits.” Molly’s voice broke a little. She looked down at the papers in front of her. “Daniel and I found we had too many differences.”

“Oh.” Sherlock could see Molly was upset about that. “I’m sorry. I know he was special to you and he did care greatly about you.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.” She looked back up at him. “Is there anything else?”

“I just brought you your coffee.” He smiled. Molly looked down at the mug and smiled. It was a sad smile. “Are you moving back into your old flat? Because if you are, you should reconsider your locks.”

“No, I broke my lease and I can’t be moving back there. For the time being, I’m living in a hotel while I look for a new flat.”

“Oh, well you know, I mean I know Mrs. Hudson would love it, John’s old room is still . . .” Sherlock started rocking slightly on his toes like a child.

“Sherlock what are you trying to say?”

“John’s old room at Baker Street is available. I believe Mrs. Hudson would welcome you there if you would like to move in. I mean until you find your own place. And it of course it would be advantageous for my work if you were nearby for me to consult with.”

“Nearby?”

“We worked well together that day you accompanied me. I found your insights . . . refreshing. I believe it would be beneficial for you to assist me. I would . . . prefer your presence.”

“Sherlock Holmes, in the five years I’ve known you, you have never been tongue tied. What is it you are wanting to say to me?”

Sherlock leaned back on his heels and lifted his chin. “Molly Hooper, my feelings I expressed in Italy have not changed. I want more for us. I care about you and want you in my life as more than just a passing acquaintance.”

“Sherlock, I have a cat.” Molly said smirking as she tilted her head slightly.

“Well, as long as you keep the litter box clean and you allow me the occasional experiment on him, I see no problems with Toby staying with us.”

_‘With us.’_ The implications weren’t lost on her. “Clean litter box but no experiments.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. He felt as if he could finally breathe.

She stood and walked around the desk to stare up into Sherlock’s face.

“Is that all you wanted to say to me. Or is there something else you would like to ask?” She held his gaze.

“Molly, I . . . may I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

He brought his hand up to cup her face and slowly lowered his head. His eyes flickering between hers and her lips. It was a gentle brush of lips. A warm exchange of breaths. Then he leaned farther forward and kissed her firmly. Possessively. Molly’s hand moved up and wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him closer to her.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing and occasional moans. Sherlock pulled slowly back. His eyes staring intently into hers.

“You won’t ever leave me again will you?” He whispered.

“As long as you don’t give me a reason to leave.”

“Molly, I wish to spend the rest of my life giving reasons to stay.”

Molly smiled and lifted up on her toes to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos. I kinda didn't want this story to end but it had too.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome and enjoyed.


End file.
